


Secrets

by Fishwichformylove



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M, NSFW, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-28
Updated: 2016-07-28
Packaged: 2018-07-27 06:42:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7607764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fishwichformylove/pseuds/Fishwichformylove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An anon on tumblr requested "Tell me a secret" from a quote fic prompt meme.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Secrets

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Sexually explicit content (UKUS), profanity.
> 
> This was originally posted as a part of Shelf Space on ffn, since slipping it into a collection was the only way I could post it there without running a large risk of it getting taken down. I think from here on out I will post all explicit content separately, even if it originated as a part of that series. If you don't like that idea, feel free to tell me why. It's not set in stone, just thought I'd try it.

England's lower back was beginning to burn. Even though every push of his hips felt incredible— so hot and soft— the ache was becoming distracting. And his knees. His knees hurt. A nice hotel mattress was still a hotel mattress, and it was too lumpy and springy a surface to maintain any real balance. He faltered forward, arms too full of the backs of America's legs to catch his fall, hunching awkwardly as he clenched his stomach muscles to keep from toppling over entirely. Yanking at the pillow beneath America's hips, now gone too flat with weight and sweat to do its job, England repositioned himself with a huff. He drove back into America, focusing on the pleasure that far outweighed the discomfort.

America's response was a huff of his own and a string of muted groans. He was being uncharacteristically quiet, just writhing and occasionally swearing or grunting. It was different enough to be arousing instead of insulting, but it was still odd. Not that this happened that often. Often enough that England noticed, but with enough time between instances that change was to be expected. He assumed it was pride and America was taking his surroundings into consideration for once. Perhaps he didn't want the entire floor to know what he was up to and with whom. But they did. England knew they did, and America probably knew they did. And if they didn't know, they certainly assumed— which was just as bad, but left more room for the imagination. England wondered if everyone pitied him.

If everyone knew they were fucking, everyone knew how England felt about it. He could pretend and protest, but he knew it was obvious. Lost in the current euphoric haze of sensations, he could admit that to himself and not care too much. He would care later, when he was alone in the shower or sleeping on one half of the mattress out of habit and a wish instead of necessity. But those empty, lonely moments seemed so far away as he pulsed and twisted with America, the heat convincing him that right now it meant the same thing to both of them.

America gasped suddenly, one hand slapping on to the back of England's right thigh to weakly pull him closer and the other groping at his own cock. His nails were digging into England's skin, stinging and feverish, but England didn't care. He deepened his thrusting efforts, watching as America touched himself and his skin glowed in slick, mottled red patches. He was mumbling something under his breath, head jerking to the side and face screwing up.

"I— god, I—"

"What?"

"I— mmmm—"

"Are you going to come?" England was almost desperate for him to say yes as he careened toward that eventuality himself.

"No." America looked up at him for a split second, eyes half-lidded and wet, and then he was scrunching up again, biting into his lower lip. "I—"

"What? Tell me."

"I can't. Fuck, I can't."

The hard edge in his voice, the restrained sob, almost made England pull out, but then America was pawing at his shoulders and begging. England caught himself on his palms, hovering over America as he squeezed his knees into England's sides. America was coming undone, stuttering and swallowing whatever it was he wanted to say over and over. The burning ache was spreading down England's arms to his wrists, but he forced himself to balance on one palm so that he could move the other to America's face. He wiped away some of the hair stuck to his forehead, then cupped his cheek firmly enough to stop him shaking his head back and forth.

"You can tell me."

America looked up at him again and groaned, pushing up to meet him with a new intensity. "I can't."

"Yes you can."

"No, I— you'll know—"

"Know what?"

"I— don't, can't— please—"

England felt the familiar, tempting tightness in his belly, but he wanted so badly to know what it was America was trying to say. Or trying not to say. He slid his fingertips down America's cheek to his neck, to his chest, to his belly, to his cock, brushing America's hand out of the way. America latched on to his shoulder again, grip painful in just the right way.

"Is it a secret? You should tell me," he taunted in a whisper, dragging his thumb achingly slow across and under the swollen head and smiling when America jolted and squirmed.

"Nngh god, please don't m-make me—"

He started fisting America's cock with rhythmic purpose, ignoring the protesting soreness in his hips and the arm holding his weight. "Go on. Tell me a secret."

America inhaled again, going rigid for a moment, and England expected to pull his hand away dripping. Instead, America was looking up at him with eyes brimming with tears, looking every bit as sore and old and overwhelmed as England felt. He sniffled, face contorting into an ugly half-smile that looked more worried than happy.

"I— I love you."

England's hips kept moving with a shallow and stilted pace, body still wanting to finish what it had started, but everything inside of him stopped. A breath stuck halfway down his chest, painful and freezing cold. The chill spread up and down and out around every inch of him. It made him light-headed and anxious for just the tiniest flicker of time, and then the heat was back. It poured down his aching back and through his veins like a rush of water, cleaning away everything he'd thought he'd known when the first item of clothing had hit the floor 20 minutes ago. When he could finally register his vision again, he looked down to see America's hands covering his face and his chest expanding with rapid, panicked breaths.

Pulling his hands away, England finally let go of his weight to sink down to America, kissing him the way he'd always wanted to kiss him. With a sloppy, shuddering breath against his lips, America came back to him, hands pulling him down and closer, catching in his hair and scrabbling against his back. It was all England could do to hold on as they started moving again, frantic and disjointed, but more right than it had ever been. He pressed his face into the space between America's neck and shoulder, breathing in the humidity of his skin as words began to tumble out of his mouth.

"I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you…"

He repeated it until climax stole his breath, and they both melted into the lumpy, damp mattress, feeling raw and tender. America turned so he could press his forehead to England's, no words necessary. Through the ache in his limbs and the fear in his chest, England smiled.

He knew now. They both did.


End file.
